


Excalibur Hotel and Casino

by rubyjayne



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 1x1 first meeting vibes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Gambling, M/M, Sexual Content, elevator shenanigans, plus 5x12 tavern scene, whatever the opposite of a meet cute is, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29731092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyjayne/pseuds/rubyjayne
Summary: “You just coughed, deliberately.” The man clenches his jaw, a look of genuine irritation on his face, and Merlin can’t help but roll his eyes. “Admit it.”“Bravo, jackass, you caught me,” Merlin deadpans, slightly pissed now. “No fooling you, huh?”The jab is a little more heavy handed than Merlin usually goes for when dealing with assholes in public, but something about this guy twists unders his skin in a way he can’t quite articulate and he finds himself wanting to push further, to see just how much of a reaction he can pull out of him.The iconic 5x12 tavern scene, but Merlin meets Arthur at a casino in Las Vegas.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it should be noted that i have never played craps in my life (and yet this is the game i chose to make them play), but i tried my best. as much as i love wholesome mutual pining, i have a weakness for the 1x1 first meeting dynamic where merlin is a little shit and arthur is a total ass (i'm only human) AND i'm practicing writing *sexual tension* thus... whatever this self indulgent mess is was born. and yes, excalibur hotel and casino is a real place on the las vegas strip - i couldn't help myself lmao
> 
> disclaimer: i dont own bbc merlin!!  
> please don't post to other sites :)

When Gwaine declares that he’s having his bachelor party in Vegas, Merlin assumes that he’s fucking with him. It’s a ridiculous idea, one that Merlin’s pretty sure only happens in American sitcoms or shitty reality television. But then a few months pass and one day Gwaine shows up to Friday night drinks claiming he’s flying everyone out next weekend, so Merlin had better clear his schedule or else he was uninvited from the wedding.

“Dad’s offered to cover the whole thing,” he says cheerfully, when Merlin asks how in the _hell_ he could possibly afford that. “Still feels guilty for fucking off with his mistress when I was eleven. Works out great for us though, huh?”

And so, the next week Merlin finds himself nursing a beer in some garishly medieval themed casino on the Las Vegas strip—he thinks it’s called Excalibur, but he can’t quite remember—wondering just how hard Gwaine had laughed when he picked this particular hotel. It’s a busy night, the floor packed almost shoulder to shoulder, loud cheers and groans of disappointment alike ringing out through the incessant jangling of slot machines. Even though the place is obnoxiously ritzy, Merlin is actually really, _really,_ enjoying himself. He’s usually not much of a gambler and they’d all agreed to leave their credit cards in their rooms so they don’t wake up with empty bank accounts (Elyan’s idea, bless him), but there’s something about the unapologetic flashiness and the low hum of excitement from the crowd that has him in the mood for a thrill. There’s a dare, a challenge, in the air and tonight, Merlin is more than willing to accept.

The rest of the lads have gone off to play poker, which Merlin really doesn’t care for, so fuck it, he uses what little cash he’s carrying to buy into a game of craps and joins the crowd of strangers preparing bets around the table. A man directly across from him—blond with blue eyes, broad shoulders, and sporting what looks like an unreasonably expensive suit—is next up to roll, and sure he’s hot, but something about the arrogant curl in his smile as he hypes up the crowd reminds Merlin of all the douchey frat boys he dealt with in college, so on that petty whim, he bets against him. Looking down at the table, it seems he’s one of the few people to do so.

Merlin checks his phone for the time—just past midnight—and absentmindedly sips at his beer. It goes down the wrong pipe and he chokes slightly, then coughs to clear his throat right as the man throws the dice onto the table. A collective groan rises up from the crowd, and when Merlin looks up he sees that the man has rolled a two. He looks up a little further and _shit_ , the man is glaring right at him.

“You put me off,” he accuses. His voice is low, smooth in a way that sends reluctant sparks of heat through Merlin’s body, and easily cuts through the flurry of sound and movement as the dice are passed onto the next person.

“What’re you talking about?” 

“You coughed.” 

“I was clearing my throat.” Merlin lets some incredulity slip into his voice. Clearly his initial impressions were correct.

“You just coughed, deliberately.” The man clenches his jaw, a look of genuine irritation on his face, and Merlin can’t help but roll his eyes. “Admit it.”

“Bravo, jackass, you caught me,” Merlin deadpans, slightly pissed now. “No fooling you, huh?”

The jab is a little more heavy handed than Merlin usually goes for when dealing with assholes in public, but something about this guy twists unders his skin in a way he can’t quite articulate and he finds himself wanting to push further, to see just how much of a reaction he can pull out of him. The man recoils in surprise at the insult, then barks out a short humorless laugh and leans forward over the table, eyes glittering callously as he looks Merlin up and down properly for the first time. He opens his mouth to reply, but then the dealer is calling for anyone who hasn’t placed their bets to do so, and he stops to look down at his remaining chips, shaking his head. Merlin can’t help but feel disappointed.

The guy bets against the next player, and so Merlin quickly bets for her out of spite, relishing in the scoff he hears across the table when he does. She rolls a losing number and Merlin grinds his teeth together as the man lets out a mocking hiss of sympathy

“Shame, better luck next time,” he says vindictively, an insincere smile plastered on his face.

“Fuck off,” Merlin mutters under his breath, raising his drink to his mouth for a much-needed sip.

The smile stretches wider across the man’s face and he cups a hand up to his ear, leaning in. “Sorry, what was that? I didn’t quite hear you.” His voice drips with false sweetness, the kind that makes Merlin’s insides seethe. 

Merlin flips him off in lieu of responding and drains the rest of his beer, setting the bottle down with a thud on the table, a tad harder than he intended to. The man snorts derisively and moves his attention back to the game to place his next bet. Merlin hates how much he wants his attention back.

The game continues like that for some time, each of them placing opposite bets for every single player and exchanging occasional biting comments. The warm buzz under his skin grows stronger each time Merlin wins and he pretends to not feel the man’s gaze burning into him whenever he’s looking at his phone, pretending to answer texts, or down at the table placing his bets. It sends a thrill of excitement through him whenever he looks up and catches the man quickly averting his eyes, over and over again, makes him feel like he’s winning in more ways than one. But then, right as it’s his turn to roll, Merlin looks up and the man doesn’t look away. Instead, he holds his gaze, the look on his face positively predatory, and deliberately, _very_ deliberately, parts his mouth slightly and darts his tongue across the curve of his upper lip. Merlin feels heat pooling in his belly and the man raises an eyebrow as if to say _so what_ , a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Merlin blinks rapidly, remembering the crowd of people waiting for him to roll, drags his gaze away, and tosses the dice down on the table. He rolls a two. 

The man lets out a great whoop of laughter and though a small part in the back of his head tries to remind him that this is a game of chance, nothing more, Merlin clenches his fists, realizing he’s been played.

“Distracted, are we?” the man asks, grinning ear to ear. His top lip is still glistening slightly from his earlier shameless stunt and Merlin doesn’t know if he wants to fuck him or throw a punch.

He does neither, of course, and elects to ignore him instead, hoping the flush he feels in his cheeks isn’t visible under the harsh casino lights. The rest of the game passes in a blur. Merlin feels simultaneous anger and lust simmering just under his skin every time he looks at the man, which then makes him feel even angrier because _God_ , this guy is being a dick about his little victory too, he’s practically _preening_ with glee. And Merlin absolutely hates himself for it, but each time he makes eye contact with him, he wonders what kind of noises he’d make in bed, and since he can’t help but feel like the man can read his _want_ on his face, he eventually just stops looking at him. 

When the game starts to slow and one by one, people begin to peel away from the table to head elsewhere in search of a new thrill, Merlin is both relieved and disappointed. He settles his bets with the dealer and stalks off without a second glance at the man, only sneaking a look back when he’s safely seated at a nearby bar. The man is nowhere to be seen, probably off playing another game already, and for just a moment, Merlin feels something sink in his stomach. He orders another drink, sips it slowly, and by the time his glass is empty he’s come to the conclusion that his night is, for better or worse, over. The time is now well past midnight, and Merlin is out fifty bucks, inconveniently horny, and he feels the beginnings of a headache forming in his temples. He shoots a quick text to the group chat to let the lads know that he’s turning in for the night, and heads for the exit, mulling over if he should order room service or not.

Merlin pulls up the hotel menu on his phone as he makes his way towards the elevator that’ll take him to his room, eyes glued to the screen as he ponders his options - maybe cheesecake? Wine? The elevator to go up is taking a ridiculously long time to arrive, though there’s barely anyone else waiting for an elevator at all—the night at the casino was just getting started, it seems—and Merlin is pausing on one of the only affordable bottles of wine on the menu, when he hears a familiar cocky voice behind him, a tiny bit closer than polite company would dictate.

“So your taste in wine is shit too? Shouldn’t be surprised, considering that garbage you were drinking during the game.”

Merlin spins around and comes face to face with _him._ The same man who’s been tormenting him for the past hour is standing right in front of him, his arms folded over his chest, the corners of his mouth—his _annoyingly_ pink mouth—quirked up into a taunting smile, and something resembling a dare in the glint of his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you’re wondering who gwaine is marrying.... i have no idea either but i needed to get them to vegas so cheers!! thanks for reading, i would love to hear your thoughts <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So what’s your name then?” Arthur lets out a sort of sigh as he asks the question, as if he's doing Merlin some great favour.
> 
> Merlin contemplates ignoring him, just for fun, but then he looks up and _God._ In tight quarters, even under this horrific elevator lighting, Arthur was, to put it mildly, dreadfully attractive. With each passing moment it was getting more and more likely that Merlin was wrong before - his night was most definitely not over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> even though there’s no actual sex, this is my first time posting anything that’s like.... smut-adjacent and i'm weirdly nervous about it? i sort of left the ending open enough that if i want to come back and practice writing something a lil more explicit i can hehe :) also i just had to use that dialogue from 1x1 (you'll see) like come ON!! 
> 
> enjoy! xx

Merlin stands there gaping at him for just a fraction of a second too long before he pulls himself together enough to respond.

“What d’you want?” he finally settles on, not sure what else to say.

“Just trying to help you avoid a bad decision,” the man says, raising one eyebrow.

_“Sorry?”_

“The wine. I tried it last night, it was absolute shit.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Merlin says incredulously, pocketing his phone. “But I think I’ll manage.”

"Doubtful." The man checks his watch, then adds, “I’m Arthur, by the way.” 

The elevator, of course, chooses that precise moment to arrive and Merlin doesn’t know if he’s happy to leave the conversation or wishes it could last just a minute longer.

“Good to know,” Merlin says, his face an impassive mask as he walks into the (empty, he can’t help but notice) elevator.

To his disappointment (and reluctant excitement), Arthur—Merlin imagines saying the name out loud and finds he likes the way it feels in his mouth—follows him inside, chuckling as he presses the button for floor twenty five.

“Aw, don’t run away!” Arthur looks positively mirthful as he speaks, and despite the barely disguised condescension in his voice, Merlin has to admit that his smile is somewhat endearing under all that arrogance.

“From you?” Merlin snorts and leans back against the elevator wall, pressing the button for floor twenty two, where his room is. He doesn’t miss the way Arthur’s eyes flicker to watch, as if he’s noting which floor it is. That was telling. Promising, even. Okay, he’s definitely more excited than disappointed. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Arthur drawls, leaning against the opposite wall. “You practically sprinted off after the game.” 

“I didn’t _run away,_ I was getting a drink.”

“Right.” The smirk on Arthur’s face makes it apparent that he doesn’t believe him, though it technically is true.

They settle into silence as Merlin pretends to reply to a text, then glances up to see what floor they were at. _Three._ Holy fuck, these elevators were slow.

“So what’s your name then?” Arthur lets out a sort of sigh as he asks the question, as if he's doing Merlin some great favour.

Merlin contemplates ignoring him, just for fun, but then he looks up and _God._ In tight quarters, even under this horrific elevator lighting, Arthur was, to put it mildly, dreadfully attractive. With each passing moment it was getting more and more likely that Merlin was wrong before - his night was most definitely not over.

“Merlin.”

“So, _Merlin,_ are you always so easily distracted?” Arthur draws out his name in a way that shouldn’t be sexy, but damn it all to hell, it really, _really_ is, and Merlin’s pretty sure that even with how utterly obnoxious Arthur is, he would be perfectly okay with them ripping into each other right here in this elevator. _Especially_ now that he’s bringing up his earlier shamelessness during the game. Merlin contemplates his options for a moment, checks the time, and yeah, okay. Enough foreplay. This was happening. 

“I mean, I barely had to try! It’s a bit embarrassing, really,” Arthur continues in that carelessly superior way of his when Merlin doesn’t respond right away.

“What’s embarrassing is how clearly into me you are,” Merlin says, impatient to get on with it now that he’s decided that the feeling of Arthur’s lips on his own would probably be worth having to hear more of his snarky comments. If anything, it might even shut him up for a minute, or preferably longer.

Arthur looks taken aback for a second, but he quickly covers it with a grin and takes a few casual steps forward under the pathetically transparent guise of checking the elevator screen for the floor. 

“What makes you say that?” he asks, eyes wide with blatantly false innocence. 

“Bit obvious, isn’t it?” Merlin says. He pauses, and then, fuck it, adds, “Planning on doing anything about it or are you just all talk?”

“Careful,” Arthur says, finally dropping the act. His voice is a low rumble as he takes another step forward, looking directly at Merlin this time, not feigning a thing. “I could take you apart with one blow.”

“I could take you apart with less than that.” He breathes the words out, barely audible.

Arthur is now right in front of him and despite the fact that those elevator doors could open at any moment, he’s certain that the idea of closing what little space there is between them is the only thought on both their minds. Arthur’s pupils are dilated, and maybe it’s Merlin’s imagination, but they’re so close he can practically feel heat emanating off of his body. So for the third time that night, Merlin decides to say fuck it and he barely has to lean in, barely has to move at all, for Arthur’s lips to meet his. For a split second, Arthur seems like he’s almost shocked, like for all his scorn and posturing he wasn’t actually expecting to get this far, and he makes a soft little gasping noise that goes straight to Merlin’s dick before he pushes forwards and kisses back, hard, hands grabbing at his hips with fervour.

Merlin, deciding he needs to do whatever he can to get Arthur to make that fucking noise again, drags his hands up to his neck, tracing feather light touches over the skin there, and eventually settles his hands in Arthur’s hair. He gives one slight experimental tug and yep, there it is. Arthur’s hips skitter forward when Merlin does it again, and maybe their teeth clack together with the force of it, but this, _this_ was satisfying, this was more than worth all of the earlier irritation.

Arthur doesn’t seem content to let Merlin have all the fun, however, and he disentangles their lips, smirking when Merlin moves forward, chasing the kiss, only to lean in again and press openmouthed kisses down the column of Merlin’s throat. Merlin can’t help but pant raggedly, his mouth right next to Arthur’s ear, and he tilts his head back with a hollow thud against the wall, wondering faintly what floor they were at and praying that the elevator doors don’t open. Fuck, even if they do open, who _fucking cares_. Merlin isn’t sure he can bring himself to part from the feeling of Arthur sucking what would surely be bruises into the side of his neck, occasionally grazing his teeth over the spots that elicit the most reaction and then dragging his tongue up across his throat, making a pitstop to nip at his earlobe, and eventually landing back at his mouth. 

He feels Arthur smiling into the kiss, probably far too pleased with himself at the state he’s brought Merlin to, and as _if_ he’s gonna let that go. So Merlin bites down on Arthur’s lip and tugs slightly, relishing in the moan he gets, then shifts back a little, just enough that he can get his thigh in between Arthur’s legs. He’s more satisfied than he should be to find that Arthur’s just as hard as he is. He presses in, harder, until their bodies are flush against eachother, and Arthur makes that _fucking_ noise again, and he has to be doing it on purpose at this point, he must be. Because then he’s pulling back from the kiss, his lips obscenely wet, to rest his forehead against Merlin’s and pressing down, rocking himself against Merlin’s thigh in little stuttering motions and making those small desperate noises all the while. And Merlin knows he shouldn’t, knows he should just enjoy watching what a fucking _mess_ he’s brought Arthur to, but he just has to, he _has_ to say it.

“So _needy,”_ he whispers, a tad mockingly, his breath ghosting across Arthur’s face. 

“Shut up,” Arthur gasps out with his eyes closed and his mouth parted, still grinding down into him. “Just shut up.”

Merlin is just about to shoot back a scathing retort, or maybe about to tell Arthur how fucking hot he looks like this, he hasn’t quite decided yet, when he hears a ding and hazily realizes that they’re at his floor. Arthur’s motions are beginning to quicken, but apparently he’s not too far gone to recognize the noise of the elevator doors opening, because he pulls himself back a respectable distance with surprising speed and quickly looks to see if anyone’s there. By some miracle, nobody is. 

“My floor,” Merlin says breathlessly by way of explanation, still very aware of his own straining jeans.

“Right,” Arthur responds, his chest heaving and a flush sitting high across his cheekbones.

A beat passes, the sound of their breathing the only noise to be heard, and then Arthur looks at him with a hesitant question in his eyes.

Merlin forces himself to wait a few seconds so he doesn’t sound too eager, then says, “Alright, come on then,” and steps out of the elevator, placing one arm in front of the doors so they don’t close.

And Arthur smiles in that infuriatingly arrogant way of his and makes snide comments about how much he _knew_ Merlin wanted him (as if he wasn’t the one who was just about to get off against Merlin’s thigh in a _fucking elevator)_ all the way back to his room, only stopping when Merlin slams the door shut behind them and pulls him back in to finish what they had started. 


End file.
